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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24484270">Comfort In Absence</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgnesAgathaAgrippina/pseuds/AgnesAgathaAgrippina'>AgnesAgathaAgrippina</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Sherlock Holmes &amp; Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Drug Use, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Minor Angst</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 03:47:43</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,718</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24484270</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgnesAgathaAgrippina/pseuds/AgnesAgathaAgrippina</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"Holmes’ temper flared. Why should Watson enjoy a jovial meal while he is left trapped in the flat? The frustration burned like fire in his veins, and his eyes wandered to where he knew his morocco box lay hidden. No, he mustn’t—if he did not wish to enrage his dear Watson, who would know immediately upon his return what he had done."</p><p>When Watson leaves for an evening out, a restless Holmes comforts himself with his 7% solution. But dear Watson is more forgiving than Holmes believes he deserves.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Sherlock Holmes/John Watson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>57</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>/r/FanFiction Prompt Challenge #18 / May 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Comfort In Absence</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Written for the /r/fanfiction prompt challenge #18 for May 2020, where I was given a TV Tropes entry as a prompt. I was received the trope “Defective Detective”—How lucky I am that I had already planned to write about perhaps the earliest Defective Detective himself?</p><p>I decided to show a side of Holmes' addiction that is glossed over in the canon--his own guilt.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The night was peaceful on Baker Street, and Sherlock Holmes was at odds with it. Although he claimed to treasure his solitary time, being left to his own devices only served to aggravate his nerves and render him restless. Watson was aware of this, but Watson, Holmes thought derisively, was not there.</p><p>So the great Sherlock Holmes flung himself on the sofa, staring into the low flames of the fireplace while his leg shook with impatience. </p><p>Earlier in the evening, his Watson had announced his plans to visit a friend—Holmes certainly could not remember which—and that he would likely not arrive home until late in the night. Instantly, Holmes’ outlook on the night ahead turned dour. </p><p>It was selfish, he knew, to expect Watson to keep no company but himself, but he felt the small burn of jealously flare in his breast at the thought of his charming companion eating dinner with a different man across the table. Holmes slumped further into the settee, and then shot up like an explosive. He paced, as was his way, until he heard the door to the sitting room knock and creak.</p><p>He knew it was was Mrs. Hudson before she appeared, but his heart still dropped, as part of him had hoped that it would be Watson, back early and prepared to embrace him with a peck on the cheek. How foolish, he thought.</p><p>“Anything you need tonight, Mr. Holmes?”</p><p>“No, I should like to be left alone,” Holmes grumbled, aware that he must look like a despondent child, lost in his own sitting room.</p><p>“Very well. Good-night, Mr. Holmes,” the landlady said as she disappeared. </p><p>With that irrational false hope crashed in his chest, Holmes’ temper flared. Why should Watson enjoy a jovial meal while he is left trapped in the flat? The frustration burned like fire in his veins, and his eyes wandered to where he knew his morocco box lay hidden. No, he mustn’t—if he did not wish to enrage his dear Watson, who would know immediately upon his return what he had done.</p><p>Turning to his desk, Holmes eyed the chemical compounds he had acquired only a few days prior in his excitement for the experiment he planned. He set his mind to work on it, hoping for his frustration to be channeled into a deep concentration. Laboring over the desk for nearly half an hour, Holmes felt no more at ease than he had when he had begun the task. In fact, he felt even more restless. He had become so accustomed to narrating his experiments to Watson while he sat reading or writing on the sofa nearby that without his presence Holmes’s vigor appeared missing. He sighed and backed away from the table, knowing that in a matter or days his interest would surely be peaked again, and his companion would be there to share in his delight at the experiment’s conclusion. </p><p>The clock on the mantel showed that the time was already late, but not late enough so that Holmes thought Watson would return soon. He pictured the comfortable companionship they would share around the fire once he returned, looking especially forward to seeing Watson’s cheeks made rosy with drink and the lines around his eyes deepen as he regaled the nights events to Holmes. The thought only made him long for Watson’s arrival more.</p><p>Chiding his own restlessness, Holmes reminded himself that he had tolerated living alone for many years. Then he recalled with more clarity that during that time he relied on the crutch of drugs evermore. Though his doctor had swayed him into a lifestyle of temperance, Holmes still found his moods to be just as unwieldy as they had always been.</p><p>Another look at the clock; Watson would not be home soon, Holmes decided, and if he were to engage in his habit he must do so quickly, so that the evidence had more chance to be concealed from Watson. At once, Holmes was on his feet gathering his Morocco box and preparing a solution. He sat, muscles taut, in his chair, willing the drug into his body with a steady plunge of the syringe. He sighed, and his body relaxed into a languid recline.</p><p>After several minutes of peace, Holmes chuckled. He hardly bothered to conceal the evidence, Watson be damned. How could a doctor set himself against something that proved to cure Holmes’ mental ailments? For a period of time he couldn’t be sure of, Holme sat in a chemical swirl of stimulation that cocaine provided until he heard the tell-tale sounds of Watson arriving home. Though he heard the man climb the stairs and reach the landing, he made no move to hide himself.</p><p>Watson opened the door with a squeak. </p><p>“I see you’re still up,” he said, hanging up his coat.</p><p>“Yes, I am,” Holmes replied.</p><p>He heard Watson’s shuffling cease. </p><p>“Are you feeling well? You sound peculiar.”</p><p>“I certainly would sound peculiar to you,” Holmes said.</p><p>At that, Watson rounded the sitting area to look Holmes in the face. His expression darkened, but he said nothing and returned to taking off his outer layers.</p><p>“How was you friend, John?”</p><p>“You can’t think I’m foolish enough to believe you care about my friend, Holmes.” Watson said, voice simmering.</p><p>“Holmes? Will you not use my Christian name?”</p><p>“No, I will not,” Watson raised his voice. “I am very cross with you.”</p><p>Watson left the sitting-room, taking care to slam the door not enough to wake Mrs. Hudson but enough to illustrate his meaning to Holmes. </p><p>Holmes sighed into the chair, feeling cheated that his night with Watson was ruined. He arose and stalked towards his room, deciding there was nothing else to do but retire and wait for his Watson’s temper to wear off.</p><p>The morning light found Holmes spread across his rumbled bed linens, sweat pinning his hair to his forehead. His head beat incessantly. </p><p>A knock rapped at his door, though Holmes was not aware enough to determine who to belonged too.</p><p>“Yes?”</p><p>“Mrs. Hudson wants to know if you’d like tea,” Watson’s voice emanated from the door.</p><p>Holmes felt a blooming in his chest; his companion did always take care of him.</p><p>“Yes. I’ll be out shortly.”</p><p>Watson’s footsteps treaded away. </p><p>Holmes lurched out of bed and dressed himself just enough to be decent before entering the sitting-room. </p><p>He found Watson reading the paper with tea as usual.</p><p>“Good-morning,” He said.</p><p>“John,” Holmes spoke as briefly as he could, for his throat was dry. He took a seat and took his tea.</p><p>“Do you have any arrangements for today? Any new cases from the Yard?”</p><p>“None,” Holmes answered after several sips. His eyes narrowed, suspicious that Watson had yet to say a word about the night before.</p><p>“Pity. Perhaps you can finish your experiment,” He nodded to the desk table. “I’ll be in all day, touching up manuscripts.”</p><p>Holmes snaked his hand across to Watson’s, letting his fingertips gently rest on it.</p><p>“Watson, you need not forgive me so soon,” Holmes said with a solemn tone.</p><p>Watson looked up to meet Holmes’ eyes, dark with meaning underneath furrowed brows. Watson turned his hand over to cradle Holmes’. </p><p>“I did not mean to be angry last night. In truth, I am worried for you, Sherlock.”</p><p>Holmes sighed at the use of his Christian name, what Watson most often called him in private.</p><p>“I do not wish for you to worry,” Sherlock said as he slid his hand away. “Please don’t.”</p><p>Looking nearly like he was about to chuckle, Watson replied. “If it were as easy as you wishing me not to, I should have never fretted.”</p><p>Holmes smiled at Watson but lowered his eyes.</p><p>“I have put you through too much. I continue to,” Holmes gulped.</p><p>“Not too much. I am still here.”</p><p>“I fear you won’t be.”</p><p>“Now I believe it is my turn to tell you not to worry yourself,” Watson reached for Sherlock’s hand, only pulling back when a knock came from the floor below.</p><p>It was an older woman with a case, a robbery that ended up being fraud, that consumed Holmes and his companion for the rest of the day and half of the next. </p><p>It was only the following evening that Holmes and Watson once again had the sitting-room to themselves. Ensconced on the settee, Watson had an arm around Holmes’ shoulders which slumped against his body, and each held a tumbler of fine brandy.</p><p>“Do tell me, dear—as both a doctor and as your lover, I would like to know—why you feel the need to inject yourself with a drug?” Watson asked, cautious but casual, as was his manner.</p><p>Holmes tensed. “I hardly think you would understand.”</p><p>“Why don’t you see if I do?”</p><p>Holmes’ smile flickered. Watson knew how to intrigue him.</p><p>“Do you wish for it now?”</p><p>“No,” Holmes said resolutely. “I am perfectly content now. A case has been solved, and you are here.”</p><p>“Why did you, the other night?”</p><p>“Please, Watson, the difference is clear, you need not make a fool of me.”</p><p>“I do not wish to make a fool of you. You know that I love you,” Watson said earnestly, fingers dancing through Holmes’ hair.</p><p>“I’m aware,” Holmes mumbled.</p><p>“You sound reticent.”</p><p>“I told you the other day at break-fast,” Holmes curled further into Watson’s body. </p><p>Watson shifted to embrace Holmes further, planting a kiss on his head. “I will not leave you.”</p><p>“I know, and yet nothing convinces me.”</p><p>“Does the cocaine?”</p><p>“Yes,” Holmes shut his eyes so he would not see even a glimmer of what-ever emotion might be in his Watson’s expression.</p><p>Watson stroked Holmes’ hair.</p><p>“I cannot expect you to break a habit that relieves your ill-feelings. I can only try at healing you, so that you no longer need your habit,” Watson whispered and pressed another kiss to Holmes’ crown.</p><p>Holmes looked up at his dear companion, tears glimmering at the edges of his eyes, although Watson would never let on that he saw them. </p><p>“You will never cease being my doctor, will you, John?” Holmes smiled.</p><p>“So long as you let me,” Watson said. </p><p>Body and mind both finally at ease, Holmes kissed Watson in the peace of Baker Street.</p>
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